


Fear and Heights

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25182136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Klinger finds a unique situation (possibly borrowed from Radar) for coping with Korea when it gets to be too much.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Fear and Heights

Sergeant Klinger - a Lebanese-American who loved the artistry of a perfect shot in a game of pool, a game of dice, and soft fabrics swishing over his hips - had heard the old adage, of course. Bravery didn’t mean absence of fear; it meant going forward  _ despite _ that fear. Well, Max kept going. 

He carried litters weighted with bodies destroyed in ways he hadn’t known a body  _ could  _ be hurt. If he vomited afterwards, sometimes, until his throat was too raw to even swallow water, well, that was his business. If it happened so often that he had to put new notches in his belt, that was his business, too. 

He walked the length and breadth of the camp on guard duty, imagining death in every shadow, imagining a shell or a grenade, or a mortar coming out of the darkness, coming for him. Afterwards, he couldn’t sleep, so he sewed until another spool of thread was empty, shivering. He bought his own thread; if he wasted it on these mad, messy, midnight creations - well, no one looked at his lingerie but him. 

He stayed up late after OR to clean blood up off of the floors and tried not to think that some of it belonged to men who still lived while some of it belonged to men who had died. Then he washed his hands, afraid that Death was just out of sight, beyond his shoulder, knowing He could take him at any time; frightened little Max couldn’t go anywhere. 

Tomorrow, he would  _ keep  _ going. 

But tonight he needed to find a place where he could sleep, a place where fear would never look. He swung his cloak around so that it became a blanket. Then he pushed a wooden chair over to the bookshelf and began to climb. If anyone had known about  _ this  _ ritual, it might have brought his section 8 in reach. But it was incredibly late and Klinger was tired of being afraid - and fear, as far as he was concerned, had something it was afraid of, too: heights. He folded himself onto that ledge - the top of the bookshelf between the books and the ceiling - drawing his legs up to his chest and curling himself into a porcupine shape so small that both Death and fear would overlook him. 

Neither Death nor fear came for him that night, but he  _ was _ found. 

Someone called for him softly. “Max? Corporal?” 

He opened his eyes and squinted. The office was still bright - MASH 4077 never closed - and the blinding light obscured the speaker. Not that he needed his eyes to identify him; no one else on base sounded like Charles Emerson Winchester III. 

“What are you doing up there?” 

“Sleeping, sir.” 

“New scheme? Pretending you’re a bat? A cave swift? Let it not be said that you do not  _ suffer _ for these things, but you might consider being more careful with yourself. That cannot be good for your back.”

Klinger stretched a little, looking down on him with dark eyes. “I promise not to ask you to fix it, sir. What did you need?”

Winchester sat down the parcel he’d been carrying. “I was bringing tapes for you to transcribe. I foolishly imagined you would be asleep in your cot, so I was just going to leave them. Now, I may take them back and add this latest vertical adventure of yours. But then, Honoria will probably not believe it if I tell her that some of the personnel sleep  _ atop  _ the furniture.”

Klinger made a dismissive sound. “I highly doubt that a lowly Corporal ever shows up in your letters, Major.”

“You’re not a bit lowly right now. Am I permitted to inquire  _ why _ that is the case or will that disrupt the surreal atmosphere you are seeking to create?”

Klinger was very tired. “You really talk like that all the time, huh?” He yawned. “I kinda thought it was just to bother the captains.” 

“I have no interest in the emotional status of the Captains -bothered or otherwise. But don’t sell yourself short or play at being dumb, Corporal. You keep up with me perfectly well.”

“Now it  _ is  _ surreal. Was that a compliment, Major?”

“A factual observation, rather. Though I do enjoy our verbal sparring matches.”

_ Huh.  _

“You have not answered my earlier question, however. What is it that has driven you to try your hand - and the rest of you, for that matter - at roosting? There isn’t even anyone up at this hour to applaud your efforts. Unless you’re planning to get the drop on Colonel Potter in the morning?” 

If he had been more alert and awake, Klinger probably would have sought to evade this question or put the Major off with vague generalizations. “Just scared, sir.”

“Of what?” He looked around, trying to imagine what floor-dwelling thing Klinger was seeking sanctuary from. “Snakes?” he guessed. Not that Klinger had ever seemed particularly nervous about anything like that, really. “Rats? Spiders? Cockroaches?” 

“ _ Everything _ , Major. All of it.” 

It should have made him laugh, but Klinger was just too earnest, his eyes, pupils small in the bright light of the office, too dark, too  _ beseeching _ .

_ You poor thing _ . He didn’t mean to think it, but it came into his mind all the same. “Max, please come down from there.” He held his arms out, ready to catch him. 

“Just move the chair over.”

“Just  _ come here _ . I won’t drop you.” 

Klinger looked skeptical, but he pushed the cloak back to its proper place, flowing down his back. Then he hesitated and Winchester sighed and moved to put his hands around his thin waist. Beneath his hands, he felt the absence of a belt, the sharp rise of hips, and above all, how terribly  _ light  _ Klinnger was. He wasn’t fragile, exactly - there was masculine muscle there beneath the feminine accoutrements - but the Corporal was much too thin. After a long moment spent holding him, thinking these thoughts, Charles set Klinger gently on his sock-covered feet. 

“You are not a feline to race up something vertical when fear comes,” he teased. 

“You got a better idea?” 

“I do. Come on.” He led Klinger to the cot he’d inherited as company clerk. Then he turned down the covers and indicated he should enter. 

“I already tried to sleep here.”

“I know. But when you tried, you were  _ by yourself.  _ If you take the inside, I will take the edge and whatever you fear will have to get past me, first.” 

Klinger thought he was teasing, but his eyes were gentle. Kind. 

“You don’t have to,” he began, but Charles stopped him with a finger on his lips and a shake of his head. “Go to bed, Maxwell. I’ll be here.” 

And when he woke now and again, the Major  _ was  _ there, keeping guard, rubbing his back. 

End! 


End file.
